


I'm Sure He's Fine...

by Genkitaco



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt, Fake Character Death, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Pre-Slash, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sleeping Beauty Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genkitaco/pseuds/Genkitaco
Summary: “And then?”Jaskier prompted. His pen held over some parchment.“What do ya mean ‘-and then’ Master? He died o’course.”------------------Jaskier travels behind Geralt's contracts after the events of Rare Species, singing the praises of the White Wolf (whether he deserves it or not). He frequently runs into people who claim his friend has perished...but only one has proof.Takes place in the late fall of 1262, before the fall of Cintra.Follows Netflix canon with novel tie-ins.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 85
Kudos: 623





	1. Finding the Wolf

“And then?”  
Jaskier prompted. His pen held over some parchment.  
“What do ya mean ‘-and then’ Master? He died o’course.”  
Jaskier huffed a laugh “Yes, I’ve heard that one before. I’m sure he’s fine. This must’ve been a recent contract then?”  
The peasant boy tilted his head in confusion. “Aye, Master, but ‘twas over a sennight ago. I only tells the truth Master.”

Jaskier let out a dramatic sigh of agitation. It’d been a few years since he’d left Geralt atop that mountain and he’d had to follow his muse discreetly ever since, picking up bits and pieces of stories about the White Wolf. The only problem with recounting deeds seen by the peasantry was that they had no art to their story, no penchant for flair, so Jaskier had to make it up as he went…

“Listen child, even if the Witcher didn’t return for his coin, I’m sure there’s a very altruistic reason involved. Is your village very poor, lad? Perhaps the good Witcher just went on his way.”  
Yes, he thought, Geralt frequently played the white knight when he thought no one was looking. 

The boy, perhaps nine, ten at most, scrunched up his nose. “Our alderman is one of the lord’s bannermen! We’s ain’t poor sir and I’s not a liar. Freddie, that is my brother and I, went hunting for frogs just this ‘mornin and saw the Witcher! Covered him up with leaves so the rotfiends and drowners wouldn’a gett’m. We tried to do right by him, since he saved our village ‘nd all.” 

The boy looked down at his boots in embarrassment then. His mother had told him to be polite to the bard. She’d said he was an important person and that you should be nice when someone’s friend dies.  
Jaskier leaned back in his chair, color draining from his face. 

“You…you saw...I...where?”

The boy glanced up, face still downcast. “Down in the swamp Sir. I’s sorry Master, I forgot he was your frie…”  
“IS” Jaskier nearly shouted before regaining his composure. He took a deep shuddering breath to reassert his countenance. “Is my friend. Now...could you take me to where you found him? Please boy, this is desperately important.”  
“Aye Sir. Would you like me to take you now?”  
“Very very much. Right now. I’ll put my things up in my room and we can go. Don’t move.”

The boy nodded and stood obediently beside the inn’s door while the bard rushed upstairs. Jaskier returned in simpler travel clothing, with sturdy boots where his decorative slippers had been. His jerkin was misbuttoned but he didn’t seem to care.  
“I’ve forgotten your name boy.”  
“I’s never told you. It’s Andre.”  
“Andre, yes. Can you ride? I’d like to make haste.”  
The boy looked apprehensive, “It’s not far, Master. I have no horse…”  
“You’ll ride with me then. Let’s depart.”

Andre was right, just outside of the village. Down the hill and into the swampy woods. The kind that’s always flooded, with ash trees as tall as castles obscuring the mossy undergrowth.  
“Around here Sir”  
Jaskier hurriedly dismounted and lifted Andre down beside him. “Help me find him please. Did you leave any marker?”  
Andre pursed his lips and shook his head.  
Jaskier looked frantically around. It was late in the season. Leaves littered the ground in mounds everywhere. 

He and Andre quickly got to work. Brushing piles of leaves with their hands and the toes of their boots.  
Just as the sun had tipped over the horizon, Andre stood abruptly. “I found him.” He said.  
Jaskier never bothered to stand up straight as he scrambled toward the boy.  
He saw a hand sticking out sideways from a particularly damp patch of foliage, and he began to dig. 

And then.  
And then, there he was.  
His witcher. His best friend.  
Lying still under some moldy leaves.  
Pale as death.  
And Jaskier sunk to his knees with a sob. 

Andre stood a little ways from the scene, shifting his feet uncomfortably.  
“Please don’t cry, Master. My Da says men should’na cry over the dead, o’er we’d always be weeping.”  
Jaskier shot a tear streaked glance over his shoulder. “You should always weep over a fallen friend.” He said in between gasps. “Especially, one as dear as this one.”

Jaskier turned back and looked upon Geralt’s face. It was the most relaxed he had ever seen his battle worn friend. Even asleep, Geralt had always given the impression of being troubled.  
A moment passed and he leaned down over him. 

“I suppose now’s the time for my heartfelt goodbyes. Is this where I sing you to rest dear friend? I’m sorry you only have a voice like mine to send you off, a fillingless pie you called it. Which wasn’t a very kind thing to say, but then again, you never did have good taste. Especially in lovers. Gods above, at least you’ll avoid that Child Surprise you were dreading. Right, Geralt?” Jaskier’s ramblings came to a stop as another sob gripped him. 

He had intended to say more but found his voice had left him. Instead he put an arm beneath Geralt’s shoulders and lifted him into an embrace, burying his tears into the other’s armored shoulder.  
They stayed like that for a long time, though Jaskier knew not how long, only the sun had already set and full dark was upon them. 

“Sir…me maw’s will be missing me..”  
Jaskier started at the sound of Andre’s voice, looking up.  
“Yes. Yes of course. My sincerest apologies. I’ll make sure to explain everything to your mother. Thank you for waiting for me... You thought I wouldn’t be able to make it back alone didn’t you?”  
Andre blushed a little “You ain’t from here Master. No sense in you getting lost.”  
“I thank you. Your mother did a good job raising such a considerate boy. We’ll leave in just a moment.”

Jaskier turned back to the man in his arms.  
“It’s time I went, old friend.”  
Jaskier put a hand beneath Geralt’s head and lowered him to the ground. He got to his knees and as a last goodbye, placed a chaste kiss on Geralt’s sun warmed face.  
Jaskier stood and brushed off his trousers. 

“Good we get gone, Sir. We’ve been out here for hours.”  
Jaskier tilted his head. “It can’t have been so long. The sun’s only just set.” And he ruffled the boy’s hair for the hyperbole.  
Andre furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Master, you’ve been sitting there weeping for ages. Me hands have gone cold. It ain’t summer anymore ya know. Night’s get cold now.”  
Jaskier smiled sheepishly. 

“You’re right of course. I’ve actually gotten chilled myself and—hang on. What did you just say?”  
“Me hands are cold.”  
“Yes that. Thank you.” Jaskier puzzled for a moment. Now that his head was a little clearer he realized that he JUST became cold moments ago. If there was anything Jaskier was ever immediately aware of, it was physical discomfort. He wouldn’t say he was pampered, but he didn’t exactly enjoy physical hardship and the cold was something he always detested. 

‘What’s wrong with this, Jaskier?’ He thought to himself. Something just didn’t feel right. ‘The boy said he’s been cold for awhile. That can’t be right. I felt fine.  
When I kissed Geralt he was still warm from the sun…………wait.’  
Jaskier’s eyes widened and he turned back to Geralt.  
“It can’t be.”


	2. Warm

He knelt back down and placed both hands on Geralt’s face. 

Warm.

Geralt was warm.

That was impossible though, he wasn’t breathing as far as Jaskier could tell. He didn’t think he had felt a heartbeat either but...he couldn’t deny that Witchers were different from normal humans. 

He turned back to Andre who was eyeing him strangely.  
“We’re walking back, help me load him onto my horse.”  
The boy whined at this. “Sir I’m hungry. Can’t you just leave him here?”  
“I’m afraid not, son. I’ve just been greeted with the most joyful revelation. I think he’s alive. But he might not be for much longer if I leave him here. Now help me put him on the horse.” 

Andre looked shocked but complied. Just as they had draped Geralt over the saddle, Jaskier had a thought.  
‘If Geralt‘s alive, then where is..?’ He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. Behind him came a familiar nicker and the sound of hooves. 

“Where’d that horse come from?!” Andre practically shrieked. “It wasn’t there before!”  
Jaskier patted the boy’s shoulder, “Lesson one of traveling with Geralt, Roach is always nearby.” 

Roach sniffed Jaskier’s gelding, stomping her foot. Then she pulled lightly at Geralt’s clothes, almost unseating him. Jaskier batted her snout away “Stop that you jealous old thing. It’s a temporary arrangement.” 

He turned to lift Andre on to Roach but he stepped back. “I’ll no be ridin no devil’s horse Sir!” Jaskier huffed “Fine, you’ll ride with Geralt, can you manage the reins by yourself?” The boy nodded, looking a little green. “Do I have to ride with the dead man?” Jaskier didn’t acknowledge the complaint. “I’ll ride behind you on Roach.” 

Without sparing further conversation he lifted Andre onto the saddle behind Geralt and handed him the reins.  
Swinging himself onto Roach’s back they took off back towards the village. “I’ll drop you at your home. Take us there.”

When they arrived at Andre’s home his parents rushed out to greet him, furious but relieved. Jaskier could immediately tell that while the village might not be poor, his family certainly was.  
“Where have you been?!” Cried his mother while his father lifted him down to her.  
“I’m afraid that’s my doing.” Jaskier said as he dismounted. “Your incredible child has just saved the life of my best friend. I owe him a great debt.”

The boy’s father raised an eyebrow at Jaskier.  
“And who might you be?”  
Jaskier gave a short bow,  
“Forgive me. I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am also known as the bard Jaskier or Dandelion. Your son came to my aid earlier today when I discovered my friend was missing and helped me retrieve him. I am very grateful.” 

He gestured for Andre to come stand by him.  
“Kind deeds should always be rewarded.”  
He placed a small bag of coins in the boy’s hand along with a hurriedly drafted letter.  
“What’s this?”  
Andre looked at the parchment in his hand. 

“That is a letter of friendship. Show that at any playhouse in Novigrad and you’ll be greeted as a friend. Present that to any professor at Oxenfurt and you’ll be welcomed as a student. Seek me out again and I’ll remember what I owe you.”  
He smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. Jaskier hoped he looked debonair. A decade traveling as a bard had given him a silver tongue, but he knew he was frail and probably looked frightful after all that crying. 

Andre smiled back and walked back to his parents who nodded to Jaskier with bewildered thanks.  
With that he mounted Roach again and trotted back to the inn keeping an eye on his gelding, making sure Geralt didn’t fall.  
He tossed a coin to the stable hand for waking him and promised another if he could help him carry the Witcher to his room.  
Which, for a full crown, he did gladly.  
The burly man tossed his white-haired friend over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Jaskier frowned with distaste and swallowed an exclamation for him to be gentler. Walking up the stairs of the silent inn, Jaskier’s anxiety only grew. The gruff stable hand let Geralt freely smack into walls and doors as they trudged along.  
Jaskier gave a sigh of intense relief as his friend was finally dropped on the bed.  
“Here’s your pay, sir. Thank you for your delicate assistance.”  
Jaskier tossed a coin to the man who only grunted in response before stomping back out the door. 

Once the man had left, Jaskier turned and really appraised Geralt properly in the light.  
He looked awful.  
Jaskier didn’t blame himself for believing him dead.  
He leaned down and began to undress him. As he expected, there were several wounds that needed tending to, but none as severe as he had feared.  
Jaskier stood to fetch a basin of water, a cloth, and some bandages. “What have you gotten yourself into my friend?” He said when he returned.  
Dragging the cloth over Geralt’s chest he continued, “I don’t understand it. You’ve been in worse states than this before. Don’t get me wrong, you look like shit, but these are flesh wounds at best. Not worrisome enough to play dead for a sennight and scare me half to death.”  
Jaskier pulled the cloth roughly over one of the smaller gashes, hoping for a response. Nothing.  
“Listen, I know we haven’t always been on the best terms but I would usually get at least a surly grunt or a ‘hmm’. I’m not a fan of the silent treatment. If you don’t wake up soon, I’ll sing to you. I know how much you hate that.”  
Jaskier pulled out the bandages and began dressing the wounds.  
“You asked for it. ♪ Can you hear me? Sleeping Witcher? Can you hear my loving voice? These wounds are nothing. Do you ignore me? How can I tell if you don’t open your eyes?♪ hmm. That didn’t rhyme at all. Does that not irritate you?”  
He leaned back from his ministrations and stared hard at the Witcher’s face.  
“What is wrong with you?”  
Jaskier slapped him, hard, and waited.  
He watched a small pink spot blossom on Geralt’s cheek but that was the only response he got. Jaskier huffed and got up to undress. He blew out the candles and lay down pulling a heavy homespun quilt over them both.  
Jaskier lay on his side looking at Geralt’s profile. “I’m glad you’re not dead you know.” He whispered to the darkness. “Truly am. I never want my heart to break like it did earlier today. I don’t think I would survive it.”  
He reached out and put a hand on Geralt’s arm.  
“I’ll figure out what’s wrong and get you the help you need. You can count on it. After all, I’m the most dependable person you know. Right, Geralt? ...Right. I thought so too. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning, please don’t be dead. I’ve never wanted to wake up next to a corpse. I’d be grateful if you didn’t let that happen.”  
And then he slept.


	3. Maps and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier comes up with a plan.

His dreams were filled with Geralt. Not the harrowing adventures that filled his ballads and nightmares, but the soft quiet moments of traveling with someone for over a decade.

“Geralt, where do you go each winter?”  
Jaskier asked as he absentmindedly picked chords on his lute. Geralt grunted.  
This was a typical response and not unanticipated. Geralt’s didn’t usually answer any personal questions. Jaskier turned his attention back to his lute, he had only asked because they were nearing the end of another year of travel.  
The nights were cold and he had noticed that Geralt had already set their course towards Novigrad, where he would drop Jaskier of in a playhouse to rest the cold months with his friends.  
Jaskier never minded the arrangement.  
It gave him a good amount of time to woo courtiers, seduce patrons, and compose sonnets.  
Geralt always returned for him in the spring. Nevertheless, he was always curious where Geralt went. 

“Geralt, why not stay with me in Novigrad this winter? Take a break from witching and relax for a season. I’m rarely at home, since I’m either performing or hosting a lecture. You’d have the place to yourself to...meditate, or whatever it is you do when resting.” 

Geralt was unsaddling Roach when he stopped to rummage through one of her saddlebags. He pulled out a small roll of parchment Jaskier had never seen before and handed it to him. “What’s this?” Geralt took out a brush and began tending to Roach again. 

Jaskier curled his lip and unrolled the parchment, no not parchment, vellum. On it was a map, he recognized major landmarks marked with X’s: Novigrad, Oxenfurt, Vizima, Cintra.  
But near the top of the northern realms he recognized a careful drawing of a fortress, labeled Kaer Morhen.  
He pointed to the illustration,  
“Is this where you go? This Kaer Morhen place.”  
Geralt turned enough so Jaskier could see his face in the firelight of their camp. “Yes. It’s the only safe place for witchers to rest.” Jaskier tilted his head.

“Why have I never gone with you then? Think of all the stories I could get from the other witchers!” Geralt chuckles at that. His laugh was genuine but his mirth gave Jaskier chills.  
“It’s ONLY safe for witchers. You would either be bored or someone would kill you for sport. That’s where the school of the wolf goes to lick their wounds. Do you really want to be trapped all winter in the healing den?” Jaskier felt the blood leave his face as he shook his head vigorously. “I thought not.” Geralt smirked and sat down across the fire from Jaskier. 

The camp was silent for a moment before Jaskier spoke again.  
“Is that where you need to go when your injured?”  
Jaskier had stitched dozens of Geralt’s wounds over the years, yet they had never gone farther than an inn to rest. Geralt had started chewing on some meat.

“Not planning on me injuring myself are you?” Jaskier waved that off  
“No no. Just curious.”  
Geralt leaned back with interest “If I’m physically injured to near death I go to St. Lebioda’s in Toussaint. If I’m fighting of a curse or some deeper ailment I go home to Kaer Morhen. Since typically when that happens I need other witchers more than I need nursing.” Jaskier twisted in his dream and puzzled for a moment. 

“Shouldn’t we go there now then?” 

The memory of Geralt gave a small smile, one of his rare genuine ones that Jaskier cherished. And the dream faded.  
~

When morning came Jaskier woke slowly. He curled his body towards the warmth at his side. ‘A man? Haven’t had one of those in a while, Jaskier old chap.’ Jaskier blinked slowly as Geralt’s face came into focus. He gave a small jump in surprise “Oh! Good morning dear Witcher. I suppose that last night wasn’t a dream then was it. Hmm... speaking of dreams, I think you were in mine. It was nice to hear your voice again. I’m even beginning to miss the grunting.” 

Jaskier gave a long yawn and a stretch before standing. He dressed quickly and decided to test the memory the dream provided him.  
He had brought some of Roach’s saddlebags up to the room with him last night and decided to turn them out and see if there really was a map. 

“Aha! Here it is. Thank you for the reminder Geralt.”

He unrolled the old vellum and traced the image of fortress with his fingertips.  
“This is where we’ll go then. Hopefully they’ll let me live long enough to explain myself.” He shot a glance at Geralt, still unmoving. “I go through a lot of trouble for your sake you know! Try calling me a burden again after this and I’ll run you through myself.” With that, Jaskier began to pack.  
It took the better part of the morning to pack and load the horses. Jaskier was grateful for his good fortune from the last few years, since he had plenty of coin to secure the supplies and help he needed to make the journey north. 

He bought a new thick cloak from the tailor, traveling food from the innkeeper, and other essentials he could load his gelding with.  
Solovey, his gelding, seemed confused at all the attention as Jaskier flitted around him loading him with heavy packs, including Roach’s saddlebags. It took half an apple and some neck scratches, but he was convinced to not fuss. 

The most difficult part of preparation was hiring the kitchen lads to carry Geralt down the stairs and place him on Roach. The two teenagers, brothers most likely, looked cautiously at Jaskier. He overheard them whispering to each other.  
“Why’re we carrying this corpse?” His brother elbowed him “It’s because he’s paying us, Aron. Ain’t no business of ours whether he buries it or keeps it as a trophy. Best not think ‘bout it.” Aron, the younger of the two fidgeted. His arms laced under Geralt’s shoulders. “But Ma said-“”Oh hush! Do ye want the Master’s coin or not?”  
Jaskier wasn’t sure if they were trying to be discreet but they were definitely not successful if they were. He wasn’t sure if he should speak up in his own defense or not. He was beginning to miss the stable hand at this rate. 

At last, Geralt was loaded on Roach. Jaskier paid the two boys and seated himself behind Geralt, wedging his knees under the man. Finally, he tied a lead on the back of his saddle that connected him to Solovey. Then they began their trek across the northern realms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the chapter count. Deepest apologies.   
> The last chapter draft was double the length of all the other chapters and I like symmetry, so it got chopped in half.
> 
> Leave me a comment if you think Jaskier is a cinnamon bun.  
> I'm considering starting a fic after this one that capitalizes on Jaskier's feral Slavic energy, probably filled with tags such as Capable!Jaskier, Brave!Jaskier, and BAMF!Jaskier. Would this interest you?  
> Prompted by this tumblr post: https://bit.ly/2uhKb0A


	4. Travel Anxiety

Jaskier had the map stuffed into his belt, which he checked repeatedly. 

“You know Geralt. I’ve just had a thought. Would you like to hear it? … of course you do. My thought is that I’ve never actually navigated on my own before. When I travelled with you, I just went where you went. When I was alone, I usually tagged along a merchant caravan or a troupe of some sort, even Nilfgaardian soldiers at one point if you can believe it. But Geralt, you know...I’ve never traveled without protection before. I’m afraid I’ve made a grave error. What if we’re beset upon by wolves?! Bandits?! Hooligans?!” 

Jaskier was working himself up by the moment. 

“I really should have at least hired a hunter or somebody to take us to the next town. I haven’t even been properly camping since I last traveled with you. Oh dear, I hope I haven’t overestimated my abilities. … yes thank you for the kind reassurances Geralt. I think I was blinded by the fact that I would be traveling with you. Despite the dangers we’ve been through, I’ve always felt very safe around you.” 

Roach gave a whinny and bobbed her head a little.   
“You’ll protect me Roach? I knew I could count on you old girl. Solovey? What about you? Will you trample anyone who threatens your master?”   
Solovey said nothing. 

“That’s loyalty for you. What kind of man am I that not even a horse will pledge me fealty?”   
A chuckle came from behind him.   
“A talkative one.” 

Jaskier jumped in fright. Walking behind him with a slain buck over his shoulders was a middle aged hunter.   
“Apologies for the fright, Master.” The man chuckled. “Me name is Josef. I live in the next town over. Tell ye what, if you’ll buy my supper I’ll escort you as far as my town and set you up with with an escort to the next one.” Josef jogged a little closer to Roach who eyed him warily. “I’ll think of it as m’good deed for the day, your friend seems to be in rotten shape.”

Jaskier beamed at the man   
“Melitele's blessings on you sir. I’ll gladly take you up on that. His home is far north and I was getting anxious about the journey.”  
“Haha! I can see that plainly, Master. Forgive me, but you don’t strike me as a traveling mercenary. ‘Specially not with the instrument on your back where a bow ‘n quiver would be.”  
Jaskier pouted a little “I can be roguish and fierce if the situation commands it.” The old hunter just laughed. 

Josef kept his word and escorted Jaskier the few miles to his village and then sent him away on the trail with his younger brother.   
Jaskier was glad for the company, he thought he might go mad having one sided conversations with Geralt the whole way. 

He was reminded how kind people could be if not threatened by monsters or fueled by political gains. 

Over the course of two weeks, he had found a kind hunter, soldier, or traveling merchant, nearly every day of his journey.  
Jaskier’s luck was so good, that on the third day, a barber recognized Geralt as the man who had saved him from bandits years earlier. He invited them into his home and his wife helped Jaskier change Geralt’s dressings while he regaled them with tales of the White Wolf. 

That night he went to the local tavern with the barber and sang to replenish some of his purse. The barber made rounds while Jaskier sang Toss a Coin and almost every villager within hearing distance came and paid a small sum, leaving their well wishes for Geralt.   
The following day was the first time since leaving that they were without escort but they were very close to Vizima and therefore guards regularly patrolled the path. Jaskier took this time alone to talk to (at) Geralt. 

“Look my friend, I know the world looks very grim to you, but I wish you could see how grateful people are for what you do. I bet you never even exchanged two words with that barber, yet he remembered you and offered us shelter. You do so many good deeds. I’m proud to bare witness to kindness you’ve paid forward. I’m just sorry you don’t see it more often.”   
He lightly stroked Geralt’s back as he talked. He was enjoying the physical closeness Geralt’s condition allowed. 

He was almost never allowed to ride Roach or touch Geralt before.   
Jaskier, like many artists, was inclined to physical intimacy. It was partly why he’d had so many lovers in his life.

He simply didn’t like to be alone. 

He leaned forward a little, over Geralt’s warm back. He liked how his heat seeped through his trousers onto his thighs and stomach.   
“I’ll miss this when you’re well again. Sometimes your masculine aloofness can be tiresome.” 

To everyone’s greatest shock, Jaskier especially, they said goodbye to their final guide a mere half a day's ride from Kaer Morhen.   
Not a single thing had gone wrong. It was almost as if destiny had given them a holiday and ensured that they only met with kind, helpful strangers along the way. 

Jaskier was sure a pantheon of gods must’ve been involved, but as his mother always said, “never look a gift horse, and don’t fuck with the fairies”  
He smiled at the memory, she was always so eloquent. He knew that wasn’t the most popular platitude a mother could give, but it had served him well as a witcher's companion. 

The days were becoming increasingly colder and Jaskier was glad they were close. He could feel the first snows of winter chasing them across the countryside.   
Which was worrisome. He knew he would never find Kaer Morhen if that happened. 

“Geralt, I hope your friends will like me. You’ve never brought someone home I’d wager. I wonder how my interrogation will go, I hope they don’t ask if we’ll want kids, I’m not ready to commit like that I’m afraid. Not matter how dear you are to me, I just don’t think we’d make good parents.” Jaskier smiled and took out the map again. He traced his finger along the ink line trail that led to the fortress along the Gwenllech River. He looked around him, the river ran along his right.  
Jaskier’s face fell in frustration. 

“Geralt, I’ll have you know, this is not a road. I would be generous to call it a goat trail. What was it called again?...the Killer...lovely. Let’s just hope neither you nor I fall in.”

Roach and Solovey slowly picked their way along the trial. Solovey was getting more and more spooked, every misplaced hoof dislodging small rocks that tumbling into the swift current of the river. Roach knickered at him every few minutes, as if comforting him.   
Roach was completely calm and carried them with sure steps. Jaskier was positive she had walked along this road many times before. 

What should have been a half day’s comfortable ride turned into a full day of picking their way along the path. Night had already fallen by the time Jaskier saw the barbican of Kaer Morhen. There were torches outside the gate and he could see the flicker of firelight through the windows of the donjon. 

Jaskier’s eyes were wide, “You never mentioned how enormous this place was Geralt. You also never mentioned it was a ruin. We really need to work on your skills as an expositionist.”   
The walls of the keep were clearly in disrepair. Jaskier doubted that many people lived here.   
The gate was open, probably in anticipation of the witchers’ winter homecoming. Jaskier passed through but saw no one in the courtyard beyond. 

“Hello!? Is anyone there?!” Jaskier cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed toward the firelight in the tower. He heard no reply and tried again “Please! I need help!” 

This time he decided to wait and see if anyone would come out. The wind was howling and he was feeling the chill even through his cloak and boots.   
Suddenly he felt cold steel against the back of his neck. 

“Who are you? What do you seek at Kaer Morhen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it guys! Hooray!   
> Sorry this was a couple days late, we should be back on the normal schedule now.


	5. Curses

It was a man’s voice, gruff like Geralt’s, but younger. 

“Put the knife down Lambert. Do you really think this man is a threat? A hardy breeze will take him away.” 

The second voice came from an elderly man standing a few feet in front of Roach. Jaskier started, he hadn’t noticed either man before they spoke. ‘They must be witchers’ he thought ‘their footsteps are as quiet as Geralt’s’. 

Jaskier cleared his throat, shoving his fear down, “My name is Jaskier. My friend needs help.” 

The old man walked slowly up Roach’s snout and gave it a friendly pat,   
“I’m not sure why you’d come here for healing, Son. A Witcher’s school is not exactly known for that.” Jaskier swallowed, “Yes sir. But you see, I have an injured Witcher.”

Jaskier felt Lambert remove his blade from his neck and walk around to lift the blanket Jaskier had draped over Geralt.   
The young witcher cursed and threw the blanket off. “Gods above, Vesemir. It’s Geralt.” Lambert crouched down and took Geralt over his shoulder in one motion and began to walk inside.   
Vesemir reached up and lifted Jaskier from the saddle as if he was a child and not a man in his thirties. 

“Go with them. Eskel! Get down here! Tend to these horses!”  
Vesemir shouted towards the tower while placing a firm hand on Jaskier’s back and led him inside. 

The Evening Hall in the keep was warm, a large fire built in hearth. Jaskier was ushered past it into a dark room with a large bed, a washing tub and a dresser. In the dimness he could just make out Lambert laying Geralt down on the bed before piling wood into the hearth and lighting it with igni.   
Vesemir pushed Jaskier into a chair before walking over the Geralt, looking him over. Jaskier wanted to be closer to them but thought it was probably in his best interest to stay where he was put.   
Lambert finished with the fire and stood menacingly on the other side of the room, pointedly glaring at Jaskier. 

Vesemir spent some time examining Geralt before he stood and asked, “What happened to him? What kind of monster did this?”  
Jaskier assumed the question was pointed at him. 

“I found him like this. I occasionally travel with Geralt and I was told he had died. When I went to investigate, he was already in this state. The boy who led me to him said he’d left his village on contract seven days prior. I started towards here over a fortnight ago. He doesn’t breathe, yet he does not die. He sleeps and responds to nothing around him, I should know, I’ve tried everything.”

Vesemir turned back towards Geralt and began checking on his wounds. “These wounds, when did they occur?”   
“Well before I found him, they weren’t bleeding at the time.”  
Vesemir made a face and beckoned Lambert over with a look. “These should have healed weeks ago.” Lambert explained to Jaskier, “A witcher rarely needs longer than a week to heal scratches like these.”  
Jaskier swallowed hard. He had made light of Geralt’s wounds, sure.   
But calling them scratches seemed like a stretch, since they would’ve been fatal to an ordinary man. 

Vesemir studied the wounds a moment longer before looking into Geralt’s mouth and eyes, under his fingernails, hunting for a clue to his condition.   
Jaskier fidgeted in silence. His restless leg made him the loudest one in the room and Lambert repeatedly glared at him to stop.   
Vesemir looked off into the distance in consideration.   
“You said he was on a contract?” He asked, not looking at Jaskier.   
“Yes, I followed him north from Toussaint. I found him in Velen, southwest of Vizima. I don’t know what he was hunting. No one in the village seemed aware. They only knew that something had been draining the blood from their goats and the occasional hunter.” 

Lambert squinted “A vampire of some sort then.”  
Vesemir looked back toward Geralt, “This smells like a death-throes curse. Probably cast by a greater bruxae or a higher vampire.” Vesemir addressed Jaskier “A death-throe only activates upon the death of the caster.” 

Lambert scowled, “It’s essentially a boobytrap for Witchers. Fuck, what can we do about it?”  
Vesemir looked thoughtfully at Jaskier. “Son, this is a time stopping curse. This is why none of Geralt’s wounds are healing. Are you familiar with the effects of a curse like this one?”   
Jaskier tilted his head in confusion,   
“I’m a bard not a mage. Is it at all similar to the kind of sleeping curses evil queens place on young beautiful princesses? If so, we’re fucked. I don’t know a single dashing prince and I’m definitely not suited to dragon slaying or evil queen finding.   
What now?   
Do we put him in a glass coffin and call it a day?”

Vesemir chuckled warmly. “It is similar, but no, we don’t even have a ‘glass coffin’ as you called it. What we need is someone who loves Geralt to break the curse. Following the traditional methods of course.”  
Jaskier knitted his brow together.   
“Geralt’s last lover didn’t leave him on the best of terms. I don’t really have anyone in mind, do you?”  
Vesemir shook his head. 

“Thankfully we aren’t in a rush. Geralt will remain suspended in time until the curse is broken.   
It’s late, for now we’ll sleep on the problem and reconvene in the morning.”   
Lambert opened the door for Vesemir and they both exited, leaving Jaskier alone with Geralt. 

Jaskier could hear them greet the Witcher Eskel outside. He was curious why he had tended to Roach and not Geralt.   
Jaskier listened halfheartedly to their conversation while his gaze rested on the wall just above Geralt’s head.   
His mind reeled with possibilities. In all his time as Geralt’s friend he had never seen the Witcher show affection to anyone. 

Well, maybe except for Yennefer, but that romance was hot and cold at best. He would never accuse the sorceress of loving the Witcher.   
Who else was there…   
‘maybe that Shani girl, but she’s back in Nilfgaard. No wait, what about any sorceress in a hundred mile radius? I’m sure if I place a notice, one will surely come and fall in love with Geralt at first sight. Seems to happen every time we’ve met one.’  
Jaskier pulled his hair   
‘Jaskier, dearest self, if you’re being honest, you’ve been hopelessly infatuated with Geralt since you were 19. I’m sure you would serve just fine.’

Jaskier began to pace, now that the idea was planted he had trouble dislodging it. He sat down again; his heart racing.

‘Why not give it a shot? No one’s here to stop you from assaulting your dearest friend. Bully on consent. Has Geralt ever asked consent to save your life before?.. no of course he didn’t. It’s implicit.’   
He stood abruptly and marched over to Geralt’s bedside, sitting next to him on top of the soft furs.   
He waited for the voices of the witchers gathered outside the door to disperse. 

Gathering his courage, he placed a hand on either side of Geralt’s face. He’ll kick himself if this works. Two weeks alone with the defenseless Witcher had tempted him on more than one occasion.

...Fuck. Kissing Geralt was how he’d gotten into this mess. If he’d been a little bolder; he wouldn’t have had to travel so far. 

“Geralt. I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to you without express consent.   
I will enjoy it.   
Please do not kill me if this works.” 

Having given his warning,  
Jaskier took a moment longer and studied Geralt’s sleeping face. He let his hands ghost along his eyes, his jaw, and his lips. 

“Phew. Deep breaths Jaskier. Be still my heart. Here goes nothing.”

Jaskier leaned down over Geralt and placed a soft lingering kiss on his lips.   
Geralt’s mouth was warm and pliant. When nothing happened, Jaskier gently started a rhythm, opening Geralt’s mouth with his tongue.   
Then he broke away. Jaskier looked into Geralt’s face, searching for a change.   
At first there was nothing. Just the Witcher’s sleeping face, relaxed, mouth open. 

But just as Jaskier’s hope had begun to settle into a knot in his stomach. Geralt flinched. Just slightly, enough for Jaskier to begin shaking his shoulder calling his name.  
“Geralt. Geralt can you hear me? Look at me. Geralt, oh gods, please look at me.” Jaskier began to ramble, threatening, promising, pleading.   
Lines appeared on Geralt’s face as he scrunched his eyebrows. “Mmph stop. Sleeping.” Jaskier did stop.   
He brushed Geralt’s face with his fingertips until the lines relaxed.   
Jaskier felt tears run down his face. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying. He dragged a sleeve across his face and looked at Geralt again. He had begun to breathe the deep slow breaths of sleep, he was used to seeing.   
He placed a hand over Geralt’s open shirt, on his skin, and felt the impossibly slow and strong heartbeat of a witcher. He felt more tears threaten to come. 

He shook Geralt lightly again, “Geralt please. It’s Jaskier. I just need you to look at me for a moment. You can go right back to sleep afterwards, I promise. I swear it on all the gods neither of us believe in. You’ve been asleep for a long time my friend. Just open your eyes and you’ll have convinced me you’re alright.” He spoke quietly but he was sure it probably deafening to a Witcher’s ears.   
Geralt grunted and moved a hand over his face, slow and heavy with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and squinted up at Jaskier.   
“Enough?” Geralt humphed.   
Jaskier smiled “Yes my dear. That’s enough. Good night Geralt.”  
Geralt yawned and turned on his side facing away from Jaskier. “Good night Jaskier”  
Jaskier suddenly felt the exhaustion of weeks of worry slam into him. He laid down next to Geralt and he slept. 

The next morning Jaskier lay on his side, watching the witcher’s chest move up and down. It was the most fascinating thing he’d ever witnessed.   
Unfortunately, a small pit of dread had him feeling nauseous. 

He should leave. 

Geralt had not exactly been happy with him when they last spoke…  
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”  
Right. Right he should really go.   
Jaskier snuck out of bed and out the door.   
Looking around, he found Vesemir in the library. 

“Thank you for letting me spend the night. I should be on my way.”   
Vesemir looked up and closed his book   
“So soon? You’re welcome to stay. The path becomes dangerous in this weather.”  
Jaskier looked out the window above Vesemir. It was snowing.   
“Besides I thought we were going to discuss Geralt’s condition.”  
Jaskier felt a blush creep up his neck.

“About that.   
He’s fine.   
No more curse.   
All gone.”

Vesemir smirked a little.   
“I was hoping that would be the case. You seem very fond of our Geralt. I didn’t make the connection until this morning, but you must be that young minstrel he took as a companion in Dol Blathanna. Am I right?”  
“...yes. But you see, that was a long time ago. We fought a couple years ago and stopped traveling together.”  
Vesemir waved it off  
“No excuse to run away. You’re both grown men. You’re both fond of each other and enjoy each other’s company. Time to resolve your differences.”  
The old witcher spoke with a finality and authority that suggested he wasn’t frequently questioned.   
Jaskier chewed his lip. He was right about one thing the weather wasn’t going to allow him an escape. 

He nodded to Vesemir and walked down the stables to spend time with some familiar horsy faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normal schedule? I lied. I am a liar.


	6. He's Fine

When Geralt woke he was alone. This was not unusual per se, but he felt like he shouldn’t be.   
He sat up slowly and looked around. The room looked eerily like the guest room at Kaer Morhen.   
Geralt had a sinking feeling that wasn’t a coincidence. He was in Kaer Morhen. 

“What the fuck.”

The last thing he remembered was accepting a contract in Velen, but even that was a little hazy.   
Every muscle and bone creaked with disuse.  
‘Something tells me that contract didn’t go well.’  
He stretched and walked over to the door of the chamber. He could hear other voices in the keep, just not in the room beyond. From the library, maybe?

Geralt straightened his clothes and re-laced his shirt. Taking the stairs to the library.   
He recognized Lambert and Vesemir’s voices immediately. Pushing his way into the room.   
“Well good morning sleeping beauty.” Lambert jeered when he saw him.   
“And here I thought you converted to School of the Bear and decided to hibernate all winter.”  
Geralt looked out the window and saw the falling snow. That was worrisome, harvest had only just ended as far as he could remember. At least a month must’ve passed between his most recent memories and this morning. 

Lambert frowned when Geralt refused to return his banter. “Oi, you alright? Still with us, Geralt?”  
Geralt nodded. “Yeah. Just a little foggy still. It’ll pass.”   
Vesemir hadn’t looked up from his book, “That’s expected, you were under a pretty thick curse.”

Geralt had already surmised as much. His injuries were light and aside from the massive gap in memory he felt confused but fine. He had been cursed and bewitched before. It generally felt the same.   
Geralt drew a frown “I didn’t hurt anyone did I?” He remembered when Yennefer had cast that puppetry spell on him when they first met. He hoped it wasn’t anything like that.   
Lambert tilted his head, “No, why would you think that?”

“It was a sleeping curse, Geralt. No need for concern. The worst you did was inconvenience some people.” Vesemir chimed in.  
Lambert started towards the door, “You don’t look well. Sit down and I’ll grab us some food.” 

Geralt looked at Lambert as if he’d been body-snatched and a Doppler stood in his place.   
“What!? I can be nice. Just don’t get used to it.”

Geralt sat across from Vesemir who was still reading.   
“Vesemir.”  
“Hmm?”  
“How the fuck did I get here?”  
Vesemir glanced up, meeting Geralt’s eye for the first time since he entered.   
“Your friend brought you.”

Geralt was puzzled. The friends he had that knew of Kaer Morhen, were from Kaer Morhen.   
Geralt closed his eyes and listened. There were two voices other than Lambert’s and Vesemir’s. He felt he could positively identify one of them as Eskel. The other must be this mysterious friend Vesemir was clearly goading him to find.   
Taking the bait, Geralt began the walk outside, towards the stables. 

~

Jaskier liked Eskel. The young witcher came out to keep him company while he brushed down Roach and Solovey. Both horses had been moody towards him when he came outside, Solovey especially had a penchant for drama. Jaskier had no idea where that came from. 

“How long have you known Geralt?” Eskel asked.   
Jaskier counted “Ohhh around twelve years I think? We travelled together for a long time, but truth be told, I haven’t spoken to him in at least two years.”  
Eskel widened his eyes “You brought him here yesterday, you don’t expect me to believe you just happened on him by accident do you?”  
Jaskier shrugged “More or less.”

“I saw your lute. Do you play?”  
...  
“Do I— Do I play?! Good sir, that’s my profession! I sing for my bread! Look at me, I’m gorgeous. Look at how stylish I am. How could I be anything but an illustrious musician?!”  
Jaskier made himself short of breath and had to hold his side for support.   
Eskel seemed to think his outrage was for comedic effect because he was doubled over with laughter. 

“Tell me. Have you not noticed that it’s easier for a witcher to get reliable contracts these days?”   
Eskel straightened “Hmm, sure I suppose so. Peasants seem, at least a little, less hostile than before.” 

Jaskier gave a smug grin “I trust that when you’re out on...the path, you call it?...that you’ve heard at least one performer sing about witchers.”

Eskel’s jaw dropped, “So you’re the one who wrote all those songs about our Geralt! The whole situation makes much more sense now.”  
To say that Jaskier looked proud in that moment would be a gross understatement. He was positively beaming. 

“Jaskier?”  
And then he deflated. 

“Oi, Geralt!” Eskel stepped around Jaskier to clap the white haired witcher on the shoulder.   
“They told me you’d died. Too bad, I had dibs on your saddle.” Eskel shook his head in mock disappointment. “Jaskier, I hope you sing for us tonight. I need to learn more about Geralt so he’ll be easier to beat at cards. I’ll get that saddle yet.” He waved over his shoulder as he walked back to the keep.   
Leaving Jaskier alone with Geralt. 

The silence was deafening. 

“Vesemir tells me you brought me here?”  
Jaskier nodded, taking sudden passionate interest in plaiting Solovey’s mane.   
“You carried me here from Velen? That’s a long way.” Geralt prompted.   
Jaskier pouted a little. “Technically, Roach did the carrying. I just went with her.”  
“Jaskier.”  
“I thought you were dead you know.”  
Whatever admonishment Geralt had been about to give died. “Was I that bad?”

Jaskier pinned him with a glare, “That bad?! How would you feel if you found my beaten body under a pile of rotting leaves in a swamp? Would you weep, Geralt? I certainly did.” 

Geralt was stunned. He didn’t know how he should respond to that.   
“It’s a good thing you make an impression wherever you go, or I’d have never found you... Please say whatever you have to say to me. I know I should’ve left before you awoke but the weather wouldn’t have permitted it. I also didn’t have plans on being killed by river drowners on my way out.”

Geralt knitted his eyebrows together. Did Jaskier think he was angry? Why would he be?

“I have no idea what you’re on about. That’s awful and of course I would mourn you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re my dearest friend.”  
Jaskier was taken aback.   
“You aren’t angry to see me?”  
“No you daft git. I came to say thank you, not punish you. Why on earth would you think that?”  
Jaskier rapped his closed fists against each other. Avoiding Geralt’s gaze.   
“...you were very clear last time we spoke that I should stay away from you.”

Realization dawned on Geralt.   
“Ah. That’s what this is about. Shit. Well, this is long overdue. I’m sorry, Jaskier.”  
“For?” Jaskier crossed his arms in a mock pout.  
“For being an insensitive git.”  
A small smile threatened to break Jaskier’s scowl.   
“Forgiven.”  
Geralt reached over and squeezed his shoulder. Awkward as ever.   
Jaskier smiled and looped an arm around Geralt’s neck. “Lovely, now that’s over, I’m famished. All this fretting has withered me away to nothing. It’s ruining my complexion. I must- Geralt this is no laughing matter.”   
Geralt chuckled good naturedly. 

Later that night Jaskier was taking requests from Eskel and Lambert, the fishmonger’s daughter seemed to be a favorite ...when he overheard Geralt ask Vesemir about the sleeping curse. 

“Did it just wear off or did you know an anti curse?”   
Jaskier could see Lambert’s ears prick up.   
“Didn’t Vesemir tell you?”   
Jaskier began to try to make himself invisible.   
“Tell me what?”

Lambert shared a smirk with Eskel, “Twas a traditional sleeping curse, the kind evil queen’s cast on lovely maidens.”  
Geralt narrowed his eyes, “Sounds difficult.”  
Lambert could hardly suppress his mirth as he delivered his punchline with a shrug. 

“I wouldn’t know. Jaskier was the one who broke it, weren’t you bard?”

Jaskier began to cough up the water he’d been sipping.   
“LET'S CHANGE THE SUBJECT.”   
Jaskier began to strum the chords of a fishmonger’s daughter nervously.   
Geralt sat still and quiet. Eskel thought he would burst when he saw the pieces click for the white wolf. A hand slowly raised to cover his mouth.   
Vesemir sighed.   
It was going to be a long and exciting winter. 

He was too old for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I should be back soon with more Geralt and especially more Jaskier <3   
> I'm beginning to seriously obsess over Geralt!Whump, if you have any recommendations of fics to read or suggestions of what you want to read in the future, please drop me a line <3


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